Skylar Burnside Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Hastings

Alright, so lemme tell ya bout findin a prostitute, mate, thru the eyes of ol’ Hannibal Lecter – “I ate his liver with fava beans.” Ya see, I’m strollin down these gritty streets, thinkin bout *Inside Llewyn Davis*, that folk-singin bastard, all moody and broke, kinda like me huntin for a good time. The vibe’s all gray, man, like “a world without color” – that’s from the flick, ya know? Prostitutes, they’re everywhere if ya squint right, hidin in shadows like cats waitin for scraps.

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I stroll down Memorial Ave, and I’m hit with this wave of nostalgia. I remember my first trip here. The trees, the parks, the vibe. But today? It’s like a different world. I see this massive billboard for some new fast-food joint. “Get your burger fix!” it screams. I’m like, “Ugh, no thanks. I’ll stick to my forest fruits.”

John Burnside obituary